My husband died on April 13th, 2014. I no longer like the number 13. I never believed in superstitions that would bring me bad fortune such as black cats crossing my path or broken mirrors leading to seven years of bad luck. I’ve waltzed under ladders and I didn’t wear something borrowed on my wedding day. But the number 13 is now forever tainted as bad luck and 12 times a year I will come face to face with it. Today marks the four month anniversary of a life without my husband. He was running…and then suddenly he wasn’t.
His absence hangs above me as sure as the sky and is always present whether I’m awake or asleep. Four months spent pining away for him and yet he is still gone. I’ve left the timing chip on his running shoes intact because I want him to come back so badly and finish what he started. He was at mile 11 when his heart turned against him. It was sudden and painless from what I understand…perhaps a feeling of faintness and dizziness…and then nothing.
I’ve repeated the mantra “This too shall pass” over and over since April 13th. And now four months have indeed passed but not without leaving a deep and irreparable sadness that lingers in every thought and every action of every moment of every day.
And this too shall pass…